


whatever this world can give to me

by retts



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Confessions, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Retirement, absolute idiots, no angst whatsoever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 15:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19397323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retts/pseuds/retts
Summary: Naturally, they returned to AZ Fell and Co. for more extraordinary amounts of alcohol, but only after Aziraphale fluttered along his many (some might even say blessedly endless) bookshelves. More precisely, Crowley let Aziraphale flutter about while he popped open a wine bottle and started with the imbibing. He leant against a shelf and watched Aziraphale touch the spines of his first editions reverently. The books were mostly first editions so there were a great many to be stroked.‘It’s almost as if you’re doing real inventory,’ said Crowley after a sip, waving his cup in a vague gesture.Aziraphale turned his nose up very slightly. ‘That nonsense again. I do inventory quite often, Crowley.’‘Sure you do, angel. How are the Jeffrey Archers?’‘Still here, I’m afraid.’





	whatever this world can give to me

**Author's Note:**

> hi it's 4:30AM and this is a silly thing with probably a lot of mistakes but that's what happens when you write at stupid o'clock (but still probably silly even when written at a more sane hour)
> 
> set directly after the show ends i love them so much

Naturally, they returned to AZ Fell and Co. for more extraordinary amounts of alcohol, but only after Aziraphale fluttered along his many (some might even say blessedly endless) bookshelves. More precisely, Crowley let Aziraphale flutter about while he popped open a wine bottle and started with the imbibing. He leant against a shelf and watched Aziraphale touch the spines of his first editions reverently. The books were mostly first editions so there were a great many to be stroked.

‘It’s almost as if you’re doing real inventory,’ said Crowley after a sip, waving his cup in a vague gesture.

Aziraphale turned his nose up very slightly. ‘That nonsense again. I do inventory quite often, Crowley.’

‘Sure you do, angel. How are the Jeffrey Archers?’

‘Still here, I’m afraid.’ Aziraphale shot one last loving look at his collection of Wildes, went down the staircase, and accepted the glass Crowley handed him.

‘Everything back as it was, just like I said. Aside from a few interesting additions.'

Unexpectedly, Aziraphale sighed and he turned around and went into the back of the bookshop. Crowley stalked after him, eyebrows high on his forehead.

Aziraphale fell into his armchair and Crowley extended all of his long limbs along the sofa from across him. It was immensely satisfying to be back here, doing exactly this. The end of the world seemed like an inconvenient memory and who knew if Crowley would even remember it in a few days? Already the edges were fuzzy, or flickering as if on fire. (Had he really driven through a burning M25 and down to Tadfield in an equally burning car? How marvellous, he ought to jot that down in case it faded away completely.) If Adam had made his human father to be his actual father since the beginning, then he could have never been the Antichrist in the first place. Armageddon hadn’t only been thwarted but, based on this new reality, had never even started at all.

It was too philosophical and complicated for Crowley’s taste at the moment, still somewhat distracted by having been in the angelic Head Office getting an actual demonstration on how his best friend would have been fried out of every level of existence. That was too real for him. Crowley stared hard at Aziraphale and poured more wine into his glass, then decided it was taking too long to get the alcohol into his system and drank straight from the bottle.

‘What’s nipping on your wings, angel?’ His eyes lit up and he grinned wickedly. ‘Should we burn the Archers?’

‘You know I don’t condone book burning, Crowley. Although the Fifty Shades of Grey — but no, certainly not. You shan’t tempt me.’

‘Pity. Even I regret my hand in having the series published.’

‘And those film adaptations! Goodness, that was a terrible, awful business, but I’ve already forgiven you for it.’ Aziraphale scrunched his eyebrows together and took a largish drink that would have made a human choke. A human with a gag reflex, anyway. Crowley closely watched Aziraphale’s throat work as he swallowed.

‘Besides, we’ve had enough fire-related incidents, don’t you think?’

Deflating, Crowley nodded. ‘And you’re sure they didn’t do anything else to you Below?’ he couldn’t help but ask again.

‘Aside from a very good bath, no, they were much too horrified by proper hygiene. Oh, and the holy water, of course.’ Aziraphale shook his head and held out his glass, uncaring or maybe not even realising he was asking for more wine from a bottle Crowley had effectively and thoroughly Frenched. Crowley obediently poured him some more.

Aziraphale stared morosely into his glass and Crowley got that itch in the back of his mind again, the one that went SAD ANGEL NO GOOD in a weirdly primitive tone and made him want to smash things, preferably at whoever or whatever was responsible for Aziraphale making that face. Crowley snapped his fingers and the bottle refilled itself, then quickly emptied into Crowley’s mouth. He licked his lips and lightly kicked the leg of the armchair, startling Aziraphale. ‘I still haven’t learnt the trick of reading your mind, angel.’

‘It’s silly, really. Well, not silly, because it’s a rather serious thing, but I can’t seem to stop thinking about it and I’m not sure whether I feel relieved or anxious. It's all rather confusing and embarrassing and _stressful_.’

Crowley sighed. ‘That made no sense whatsoever.’

Aziraphale looked at him beseechingly. ‘Being fired from our jobs, Crowley. I’m talking about that. Quite literally for me. Or you? Oh, damn, _we_ were both let go. We are unemployed.’ His expression crumpled and Crowley’s urge to commit heinous acts tripled. ‘Oh, dear, is this how humans feel? How dreadful!’

To Crowley, it felt liberating. He’d been doing fieldwork for so long that Crowley had got out of touch with the Head Office and its pencil pushers. Not that they’d been very in touch in the first place. This way, he had more freedom. All of the freedoms. No more unexpected assignments that ruined dinner plans with Aziraphale. No more need for secret meeting places to avoid surveillance. No more threat of being melted to keep him vaguely in line.

The words were on the tip of his but Crowley heroically resisted, reading the genuine distress on Aziraphale’s face. It was different for Aziraphale. He sincerely and wholeheartedly believed in his job, with the methods, even when his co-workers were right wankers and the office policies had not been updated in forever.

The same benefits Crowley saw applied to Aziraphale, too. He just needed to see it in the right light.

‘Think of it this way, angel.’

Aziraphale sat up a little straighter, listening attentively. Crowley preened and made sure to lounge extra nicely.

‘We haven’t been fired, not really. We just handed in our resignations. Or, ooh, retirement. Yes, that’s it. We’re retired, Aziraphale. Did our work and everything and now we get to retire to a quiet seaside town. We even got our pension.’ A snap and some figs and cheese appeared. Aziraphale made a delighted noise and helped himself, reaching for the wine again. Smiling, Crowley miracled him a few more slices of fruit. ‘Not so bad, eh?’

Aziraphale looked at Crowley with newly glowing eyes. ‘We could freelance, Crowley. Oh, this is good — the figs, as well, thank you, my dear — there’s nothing stopping us from being ourselves. After all, I’m still an angel, I can do blessings, and you’re still a demon. On second thought, perhaps you might want to rethink the temptations.’

A smile curled the corners of Crowley’s lips. ‘No, no, I like the sound of doing freelance. It’ll drive Below absolutely mental and they won’t be able to do anything about it, too scared of the natives.’

They clinked their glasses together and took sips of righteous pleasure.

‘Do you think they’re still keeping tabs on us?’ asked Aziraphale.

‘Oh, sure, but like I said, they won’t make a move. We’re anomalies to them. Something to be studied to make sure it never happens again. We’ll probably be the talk of every orientation and have something like “How to Avoid Being an Aziraphale or Crowley” during team building exercises.’

‘And when they’ve figured it out, what then?’

Crowley's smile was more teeth than anything else.

‘I see,’ said Aziraphale. He looked bothered for a moment and then shook his head. ‘You know, my dear, you have yet to regale me with your fiery ride on the M25 in detail.’

Crowley grinned and topped them both off as he started on the story, wild gestures and facial expressions (‘You should have seen your face, Aziraphale!’) included. The afternoon quickly slipped into evening. The warm glow of the old fashioned lamps threw more shadows than actual light. They were well into theorising on the the Armageddon That Wasn’t, listing events to see if their memories still lined up, and after reassuring themselves that they remembered it as it was, they tapered off into amicable silence, lost in their own thoughts. Crowley was still pleasantly drunk, only hissing out a few big words, feeling warm and full. The gramophone was singing some Tchaikovsky, one of theirs Below, and Aziraphale was gently waving his fingers to the rise and fall of the music. He had a faint smile on his face, gaze faraway. As much as Crowley wanted to know the reason for the smile, he was content to watch it for now.

Or for eternity, this: Aziraphale, flushed with wine, peaceful and safe. Crowley finally free to spend as much time with him as he wanted, no longer doing so covertly in fear of their respective Head Offices. And maybe even —

No, Crowley told himself, as the music swelled around and in him, that was too much. _This_ was enough.

The concerto stopped and left the air vibrating for a few more seconds before the quiet descended. This seemed to snap Aziraphale out of his thoughts as his gaze sharpened on Crowley. ‘You didn’t even notice, did you, Crowley?’

Crowley was too smug with his lot in life to worry about some silly gaffe Aziraphale thought he’d made. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You said something about us retiring to a nice seaside town,’ said Aziraphale, his glass pausing on his lips as he watched Crowley closely. ‘You know, _that_.’

‘Oh.’ Had he? Crowley very nearly flinched. Fuck. ‘Ah.’

‘Hmmm.’

Clearing his throat, Crowley waved a hand and miracled his wine glass back into his grip. ‘That’s just a thing people say, angel.’

‘Is it, now?’

‘Yesss.’ Another swallow. ‘Yes. Something stupid about retiring to Brighton or somewhere similar.’

‘Who says that, Crowley?’

Aziraphale wasn’t buying it. He _clearly_ wasn’t buying it. Fuck, Crowley thought with growing panic, me.

‘People, you know. The humans. They do.’

‘Couples, yes?’ said Aziraphale lightly.

This time, Crowley grimaced and downed his drink so he could drink some more. ‘Seriously, angel, it was nothing. A slip of the tongue.’

‘You know what they say about a slip of the tongue, Crowley.’

‘Aziraphale, just let it go, alright?’ said Crowley a tad too sharply.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. He had that stubborn look about him that made Crowley want to stomp his boots in frustration. More than six thousand years of not saying anything and now this? Really? Just when Crowley was about to truly luxuriate in his newfound freedom, Aziraphale was going to ruin it by finally turning him down. Literally thousands of years spent wanting but never doing anything about it because of course Aziraphale was going to say no — very politely, too, because that was just how he was made — and it was going to crush Crowley as bad as his Fall had. And Aziraphale couldn’t even delay it for a few more millennia after Crowley had had his fill of retirement and Aziraphale and _retirement with Aziraphale_ all because of some stupid offhand comment.

‘Crowley?’

The question in Aziraphale’s tone made him tighten his fist around the glass, cracking it into a thousand tiny pieces. Gasping, Aziraphale snapped his fingers and the pain went away before Crowley could even feel it. Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and closely inspected it for any trace of an injury. The angel’s own hands were soft and beautifully made, graceful unlike the rest of him, and the care with which he touched Crowley made him ache more than any wound ever could.

‘You’ve got truly abysmal timing, Aziraphale,’ said Crowley, shoulders slumping in defeat. ‘You couldn’t even let me enjoy the victory, huh?

Aziraphale blinked at him, bemused.

‘Fine, fine, you’re right, bless you, you’re right and you already know what I meant. Retiring to the seaside means exactly that. As a couple, partners, Facebook official, what have you.’ Crowley curled his fingers and not so subtly held Aziraphale’s hand in turn. He propped his elbows on his knees and pressed his forehead on top of their clasped hands. His voice quivered a little. ‘Give me a moment, will you? I’ve been preparing for this for the past six thousand years but it’s still — I’m not — ’ Crowley shut his eyes tightly and took a deep breath, then several more. ‘Okay, lay it on me. Tell me no.’

There was a pause.

‘Oh, my dear, you’ve misunderstood me.’

Aziraphale touched the side of Crowley’s face and urged him to look up. Crowley did, only because he could never refuse Aziraphale, but he kept his gaze down. Aziraphale took off his sunglasses and Crowley made an involuntary noise in the back of his throat, eyes still closed. A moment later, a thumb stroked the corner of his eye gently.

‘Very well, I’m going to say this with your eyes closed, if you wish, although _I_ wish you would open them. I do love your eyes, Crowley. They’re quite beautiful.’

Crowley’s eyes snapped open. ‘What?’

Aziraphale smiled. ‘Hello.’

‘You said — ’

Sighing, Aziraphale turned and wriggled his hand and then they were actually holding hands, fingers interlocking and fitting into the spaces.

Aziraphale gave him a rueful look, a shy smile. ‘It’s my fault you’ve misunderstood. I was dreadfully misleading.’

‘What?’

‘I was going to say yes, obviously, to retiring to the seaside with you. Not immediately because I’m not quite bored yet with London, but eventually. Only, you said it so casually I thought you weren’t being serious, that perhaps I was wrong about your feelings after all, or they’d gone away after so long.’

‘My feelings,’ said Crowley in a daze.

‘Yes, I hope I haven’t misread them,’ said Aziraphale.

‘No, you haven’t. Because I have feelings. For you.’

Aziraphale broke out into a beatific smile that melted Crowley’s brain even more. ‘Oh, oh, that’s wonderful. It would have been terribly embarrassing if I had got it wrong.’

‘Yeah.’ Crowley blinked and his eyes widened. Suddenly, he was gripped with desperation as it sank in. ‘Hang on: yes? You would have said yes?’

‘Yes?’

‘But _why?_ ’

Aziraphale shook his head and gave Crowley a disappointed look. ‘Because I love you, obviously.’

‘Obviously,’ repeated Crowley in a faint voice. He really couldn’t think and had to let go of Aziraphale’s hand before snatching it right back up. His heart, which didn’t need to beat, was in an absolute gallop. ‘And you don’t mean in a general, angelic love for all creation way?’

Aziraphale sighed. The look in his eyes was terribly fond. ‘No, I don’t. I couldn’t have made it any clearer.’

At this, Crowley spluttered in outrage. ‘What do you mean clearer? You’ve been bloody obtuse, Aziraphale! I’m the one who’s been pining after you since the bloody garden and — ’

Crowley shut his mouth with an audible click.

Aziraphale bit his lip and looked shy again. Fuck. Crowley’s grip tightened and he couldn’t help but kiss the tops of Aziraphale’s lovely knuckles.

‘My dear, you’ve waited so long.’

‘Yeah, well.’ Crowley felt equal parts mutinous and adoring. ‘I would have waited an eternity more.’

‘Even up in the stars,’ murmured Aziraphale.

Heat crawled across Crowley’s cheeks. ‘Shut up.’

With one last squeeze, Aziraphale let him go and Crowley missed the touch already and was relieved at the same time. He grabbed the bottle of wine and took a fortifying drink. His brain was spinning with how much the world had changed in the span of a few minutes, even more than the Apocalypse had done. Aziraphale was about to settle back into his armchair when a frantic urge arose inside Crowley and Crowley caught him with a hand on the back of his neck. ‘Please, angel, let me just — ’

There was no time to finish his words because Aziraphale was not only letting him but _welcoming_ him, their lips pressing together in an infinitely more gentle kiss than Crowley thought himself capable. Not that he’d been interested to try before this. There had been opportunity, yes, but not so much effort.

Crowley’s eyes were closed again when they finally broke apart, and he opened them just in time to see Aziraphale’s long eyelashes flutter with the same motion.

Aziraphale brought his fingers to touch his lips in a gesture so sweet it killed Crowley on the inside.

‘Crowley, that was — ’

‘Quite,’ Crowley agreed. His hands shook as they slid off of Aziraphale and landed back on his lap. They stared at each other with wide eyes. The Tchaikovsky was on its fourth run and the sweet notes didn’t sound as insufferable as before.

Crowley cleared his throat but his voice was still embarrassingly high when he said, ‘So, how about that seaside?’

Aziraphale nodded and smiled. ‘Yes.’

**Author's Note:**

> omg feedback for my sleep deprived soul
> 
> clarespace.tumblr.com


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